Hart's Hollow Farm (New Americana 4)

“Forgive me,” Kristen said softly, “but I wasn’t speaking to you. I was speaking to the owner, who’s already asked you to leave.”

He frowned, his measuring gaze raking over her from head to toe. “And you are . . . ?”

A has-been artist. Rootless stranger. Alone. Kristen swallowed the thick lump in her throat and squared her shoulders. “No one. Just a hard worker looking for a job and a place to stay.”

“You gonna steal from me?” Emmy scrutinized her through narrowed eyes.

Kristen shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

“Lie to me?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Murder me in my bed?”

Kristen’s lips twitched despite the awkward situation. “Definitely not.”

A slow smile spread across Emmy’s face. “Then I’ll show you around and we’ll talk. Which makes you my guest.” She poked her cane at the man’s chest again. “And you’re not. So take your tail on out.”

He muttered something under his breath, got in his car and left. Clouds of red dust rose behind his tires, then dissipated as the rain fell more heavily, cutting through the dirt particles and pummeling the red clay.

Emmy clucked her tongue. “You ever come across a man as arrogant and stubborn as that?”

Kristen nodded. “Unfortunately.”

“Come on, let’s get out of this.” Emmy walked up the front steps, cane tapping as she went.

Kristen followed, then stood by Emmy’s side as she leaned on the porch rail and stared at the front lawn. Trees bowed in the wind, leaves scattered across the front steps and rain splashed into rapidly forming mudholes in the driveway. The orange cat that had been circling the porch balusters trotted over and snuggled against Kristen’s leg.

“You from around here?” Emmy asked. “I know any of your people?”

“No.” Kristen focused on the ad in her hand, folding it over several times. It was damp from the rain, and the soggy corners clung to her shaky fingertips. “My name’s Kristen Daniels. I drove up from Adel. The farm where I was working went out of business, and no one local was hiring. Then I saw your ad. I was going to call but . . .” She looked up. “May I ask why you didn’t include a phone number?”

Emmy waved a hand. “I’m the only one working this land. Ain’t in the house except when I’m eating, cleaning, or sleeping, and I don’t much want to be bothered then. Rest of the time, I’m outside, and I don’t care for cell phones. Service is spotty out here. Besides, you can tell a whole lot more about a person face-to-face.” She studied Kristen’s face, eyes warming. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For helping me run that fool off.” Emmy glanced at the driveway. “I won’t lie to you. I’m struggling, and a lot of people want to get ahold of this land. They think ’cuz I’m seventy-three, I got no more use for it, and they want to pave it over. Even my grandson’s been trying to talk me into selling, though today’s the first time Mitch has sent someone out here to bulldoze me. I know he means well but . . .” She sighed. “I got a plan, but I need help. Lots of it. That ad’s been out for two months, and you’re the first person to answer it.” Her voice rose above the steady pounding of the rain. “I got crops to plant by the end of this month, or the first week of May at the latest. My garden needs attention, and my house could use”—her nose wrinkled—“a bit of everything.”

Heavy sheets of rain pummeled the land, obscuring the empty fields.

Emmy grew quiet, then said, “That ground hasn’t felt a drop of rain in weeks. Usually, if the good Lord doesn’t see fit to send us any, my sweet Joe does it for Him. But I don’t think it’s either one of them this time.” She stretched out her arm, leathery palm upward, and watched the rain bounce off her hand. “Can’t tell yet if it’ll help for planting. Too little and the soil will harden. Too much and it’ll weaken.”

The front door squeaked open. “Nana?”

Kristen stiffened at the sound of the young female voice. Heart skipping, she turned slowly in the direction whence it had come.

A little girl stood behind the screen door, her brown curls and blue eyes framed in the torn gap. “Can we have ice cream for supper?”

“Course we can, honey. Long as you and your brother eat all your greens first.” Emmy left the railing and opened the screen door. “Say hello to Ms. Kristen, Sadie. She’s gonna help us get this place back on its feet.”

Cheeks flushing, the girl glanced up at Kristen, then hid behind Emmy’s leg.

Curiosity shined in the girl’s wide eyes, but a wariness shadowed her expression. She had the same height, build, and shy disposition as . . . Anna.

When I get better, we can go back home, can’t we, Mama?

A sharp pain tore through Kristen’s chest, stealing her breath, the memory cutting deeper than ever. She couldn’t speak but forced herself to nod in greeting.